


Knowing More Than You're Supposed To

by phoenixgal



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Drunk Sam, Episode Related, Episode: s04e05 Divide and Conquer, Multi, Sam Finds Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixgal/pseuds/phoenixgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Divide and Conquer, Sam needs a shoulder to cry on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing More Than You're Supposed To

**Author's Note:**

> The Jack/Daniel in this is a bit schmoopy.
> 
> No beta. Mistakes all mine. Standard disclaimers: don't own them, just borrowing.

She pounds on the door, beyond caring if it woke up any of his neighbors. In one hand, she clutches a bottle of tequila. In the other, she has a picture she drew. The picture is crumpled. She's embarrassed she drew it. It's awkward every time she discovers she knows something or remembers something she'd never known or experienced. Discovering that she could draw, and could draw like this, is strangely embarrassing.

“I could see your car in the lot. Please, Daniel.” She bangs again. The knocking takes on a rhythm she doesn't mean to give it. She presses her face against the door and lets the knocking go on, her fist enjoying the tiny stings if she raps too hard. Perhaps she should have gone to see Teal'c instead. He wouldn't have gotten drunk with her, but he might have been willing to spar and grind her to a pulp. That sounds oddly pleasant at the moment. Usually she's no nonsense with any sort of combat training. Some people like to really drive themselves and while she doesn't mind it, that's never been her. Now, it sounds sort of appealing. Something to think about for the future. At the moment, a sizable portion of the bottle of tequila is gone and she's sticking with the plan. Get drunk, dull the pain.

“Please...” she begins again, her face still pressed to the door, her weight on it, as it opens and she stumbles in, practically falling right into Daniel's arms.

“Geez, Sam,” he says.

She reels back. “Oops.”

“You're drunk,” he says. A master of the obvious.

“Not drunk enough,” she says, coming inside.

The apartment is a maze of random stuff. It's like a mini-museum, cluttered with artifacts. Daniel only has one bookshelf, the rest of his books are piled artfully on the floor, like a child played block towers except with books. She winds her way around them and throws herself on the sofa.

She drops the drawing and uncaps the bottle. “If you get a glass you can have some too.”

“I'm good, thanks.”

He's in old sweats and a faded, ratty UCLA shirt. His hair sticks out in every direction. If she wanted to be observant, she'd realize he'd been in bed, but she doesn't feel like being observant so she ignores it.

“It was a really long day.”

He looks torn, like he's not sure what to say.

“You didn't drive like that, did you?”

“Cab.” She takes a long swig from the bottle.

“Sam,” he says.

“So many things.”

“Anise said they saved Lantash.”

As soon as it's out, Daniel looks like he wishes he could shove those words back in. It was the worst thing he could have said.

“Fuck Lantash. That's not Lantash,” she picks up the crumpled drawing and flicks it at him like they're starting a paper fight.

He uncrumples it carefully and smooths it out. Sees that there's a letter started on one side, probably to her father. On the other is an uncannily good sketch of Martouf's face in profile. She's captured his steely eyes and soft smile. There's a sort of lightness to the drawing. It's not photorealism, but Daniel can't think of a sketch that could convey the essence of a person more.

“That's beautiful. I didn't know you could draw like that.” He's seen her do engineering schematics. She has a good hand. He would have guessed she was one of those people who could draw a fair map from her head without looking at a real one. He never would have guessed she could do a portrait like this one.

“I didn't know I could either. I guess I can't. Jolinar made me do it.” She shakes her head. “Don't tell anyone I said that. Don't tell the Colonel. Really don't tell Hammond.” Saying an alien influence, even one that has shaken out to be as useful as Carter's connection with Jolinar, made you do something is definitely a cause to be put under examination at the SGC.

“It's okay, Sam. I knew what you meant.” He sits down across from her on the chair. There's a gentleness to his voice.

The gentleness makes her want to rage. “It's not fucking fair. He shouldn't be dead.” She knows she sounds like a child but that's the gist of it all.

“It's not.”

She takes another drink and ignores Daniel's wince. “The colonel was right. Stupid Tok'ra arrogance.”

“They should have tested themselves first.”

“Damn right. And instead Anise nearly gets me and the colonel killed in her science experiments. Again.”

“Jack would agree with you on that.”

She drinks again. “Jack,” she says. “Jack,” she whispers it like it's a forbidden word.

Daniel looks tense again. “Maybe you've really had enough.”

“Nuh-uh,” she says. “I'm still coherent, aren't I? Two men told me they had feelings for me today. And one of them's dead and the other one I can never ever ever touch.”

Daniel goes from casually trying to discourage her from drinking to hostile. “Sam, that's really enough.” He reaches for the bottle and she makes a halfhearted attempt to keep it from him, but he grabs it. She's left with the cork as he takes it to the kitchen.

“Coffee. Or food. Or both.”

She hears him rummaging in the kitchen. He comes back with containers of Chinese takeout and a fork. Puts them in front of her on the coffee table and opens them. She sees greasy fried rice and the sweet and sour pork Jack always orders. It's good drunk food, but she doesn't really want to soak up the alcohol yet so she pouts. Then, she feels stupid pouting. She's never been one to pout or whine to get her way. Forceful or not at all. None of that feminine wiles crap.

“I think Martouf liked that I wasn't girly,” she says. It's a non sequitur if you're not in her head, but Daniel seems to accept it. “Jolinar was never girly either. I probably would have been a really good host for her, actually. And then I would have inherited Martouf all the way and I wouldn't have felt a bit conflicted about it.”

“Maybe.”

She starts to cry now. The tears feel hot on her cheeks, which is how she knows they're there. She doesn't feel any conscious decision to cry, it just starts and she knows she looks like a complete mess. “I don't even know if I'm missing him or Jolinar is. I never figured out how I felt about him.”

Daniel nods like this is obvious. He sits next to her on the sofa and reaches behind her to grab a box of tissues and puts it with the takeout containers.

Sam grabs a tissue and blows her nose loudly, ungracefully.

“I think I loved him,” she says, the desperation in her voice stark. “Or no, I think I could have loved him and now I'll never get the chance, which is almost worse.”

Daniel wraps his arm around her, almost awkwardly. They are close. They have slept side by side in damp tents and seen each others' scars on display in the infirmary. She has doctored his scrapes off world. He has stood with his back to her shooting Jaffa so she could finish wiring up something to save all their asses. But for all that, they don't usually touch, at least not on this side of the 'gate. Sam thinks about how it's Jack who can't keep his hands to himself. Jack who is always patting everyone on the back, hugging them all, even her sometimes, when things are rough.

“Damn Jack,” she mutters.

Daniel pulls away slightly, looking at her unsure. “You should eat something,” he says.

“I don't know why he has to go and declare he has feelings for me. Way to complicate things. I mean, I know why. I told him to do it. I said, hey, commanding officer, tell the good aliens you're in love with me.” She starts to pick up the fried rice then doesn't seem to have the strength to do it and sets it back down.

“I'm not in love with him,” she declares to Daniel, sounding almost defiant.

“Um, that's probably for the best.” Daniel has his hands on his knees and his head propped between them. He's looking at the floor instead of meeting her eyes.

“Yeah, exactly. I mean, I do love him. He's...” she falters. “He's… well… he's… everything.” She's not sure how to say just how she feels about Jack O'Neill. He's like a father and a brother and a best friend, the best teacher she'll ever have, the best CO she'll ever have. She knows she feels more for him than she feels for anyone else on the planet, which is scary. But she also knows it isn't romantic, exactly. Sometimes she thinks if things were different that it could be. He's handsome and she has caught herself admiring him on more than one occasion. There's no way to put it in words. “English is a stupid language,” she declares.

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Some people think so.”

“Ugh. I just mean. I don't have the right words.” She looks at Daniel and jabs him. “I don't know why you had to take my tequila away. You could have gotten drunk with me. I don't want to be here anymore. I mean, I want to be here. I just wanted...”

“To drink until you were senseless?”

“God, yes. Exactly.”

“It's hard when your head can't stop thinking.”

“Yes!” She leans back on him, pleased that he understands the curse that is a brain that won't stop processing and calculating. Usually she can make it process something else, but she knew it would be useless tonight. Anise had said she'd contacted her father and at first, in the haze of debriefing and writing reports and meeting the president, she'd wanted him there. By the time they were all released, she was glad he wasn't there because of the way she kept replaying what happened over and over, which was something that only happened once in a blue moon. She was usually so good at moving on when something had gone wrong. It was a strength in the field. Right now she wouldn't have minded having another crisis to deal with.

The only solution was to try and forcibly turn her brain off. The only way she could think to do it was copious amounts of alcohol. Her father wouldn't have approved.

“I wonder if Selmak would say he was acceptable losses the way Anise did,” Sam says.

“Sam, I put coffee on. Please eat,” Daniel says.

Suddenly, there's a sound in the back of the apartment. Sam looks up, startled. She wants to assume it's from one of other apartments, but she sees Daniel's eyes flick back as well. There's nothing else in the apartment but the bedroom and the tiny office and bathroom next to it. The office door is ajar, but the bedroom's is closed.

“Oh my god. You have someone here.”

“Sam… It's okay.”

This knowledge does more to sober her up than the food or the coffee could have. She flushes with embarrassment. “I'm… Oh… I'm really sorry, Daniel. I should leave.”

“You can't go anywhere, Sam,” he says. “It's too late and you're too drunk. You should stay. It's okay.”

She looks at him again. She thought it was his gone to bed early clothes. Thought his mussed hair and bleary eyes were signs she'd woken him up. But they're his recently fucked look. She doesn't think she's ever seen that on him and she looks again. If it weren't for being drunk and maudlin, she'd really want to look. What does Daniel look like when he's gotten laid? And is this a regular thing? Does Daniel have a lover? A girlfriend? Is it someone from the SGC?

That wondering triggers the realization that she's not sure what she's said in the last few minutes. She's just been babbling.

“Oh no. Did I say anything about…?” she stops herself. Did she say aliens, Tok'ra, stargate? Who's back there?

“It's okay,” Daniel says.

“But...”

“Sam, it's okay. He's not listening. And even if he is… really, you haven't said anything and it's not… Just don't worry about it.”

There is a long pause in the room, as Sam, through the tequila, slowly processes what Daniel said and Daniel seems to realize how he had misspoken.

“I mean...” Daniel begins, sounding flustered.

“He?” Sam says at the same time, her drunkenness making it impossible to play it as if she hadn't heard exactly what he'd said.

Daniel closes his eyes. “Um, yes,” he says. He glances back toward the bedroom.

Sam shakes her head. “It's not any of my business. I just didn't know that you…”

“Slept with men?”

“It's not any of my business,” Sam repeats.

There are more sounds of rustling from the bedroom and Daniel looks angry. He turns back toward the bedroom and practically shouts. “Damn it, now I know you're listening and you apparently want us to hear because you can be deadly silent when you want to be. You can either come out here, pun intended, or shut up,” he snaps.

There's another rustling and she watches as a figure, tall with graying hair, half clad in sweatpants and nothing else, appears through the bedroom door. For a moment, he's in shadow from the hallway but then he comes clear and she gasps.

“Sir?”

“Hello, Carter,” Jack says.

Everything she drank hits her at once and she launches herself off the sofa and dashes past the colonel, headed for the bathroom. She just makes it to the toilet, vomit splashing the seat and the bowl. Now she can't think of anything but how wretched she feels, though she can't decide if it's an improvement.

In the hall, she can hear their voices. 

“You,” Jack says, “go make some toast and get that coffee. You were doing a shit job.”

Daniel makes an annoyed noise but the next thing she knows, her commanding officer is crouched, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with his hand on her back. If she had enough hair to hold back, he'd be holding her hair back. A new round of nausea hits her and if she doesn't die of literally throwing up her internal organs, then she might die of embarrassment.

“Finished?” Jack asks and she nods, unable to speak. There are tears in her eyes and her nose is stuffy from throwing up.

He hands her a box of tissues from the vanity and opens the cabinet, taking out a paper cup and filling it with water from the sink. “Rinse,” he orders.

There's something like relief that he made it so clearly an order. If he hadn't, she thinks she might actually have curled up in a ball and died of shame. But as long as he's going to order her to do something, she will follow. It's too ingrained.

“Get up,” he says, taking the cup from her and tossing it in the wastebasket. He pats her back again, rubbing a light circle between her shoulder blades. “Kitchen table, Carter,” he says.

She walks past the sofa and into the small kitchen, sitting down at Daniel's beaten up table. It isn't until the colonel places the box of tissues in front of her that she realizes she's still weeping. “Oh, god,” she says. She doesn't even know what feeling to focus on anymore. There are too many of them again.

Daniel is standing at the counter, putting jam on toast, which he places on the table in front of her, along with a glass of water and a cup of coffee, doctored with sugar and just a little cream, the way she likes it. Jack sits across from her at the table, but she sees him shoot Daniel a look and he leans against the counter, arms wrapped around his chest, head slightly down, out of their way.

“Sir, I'm so sorry,” she begins.

“Aht,” he says. “I have no idea what you even think you're apologizing for, Carter.”

“It's just so inappropriate that I should… I mean...” She starts crying again.

“Enough of that.” It sounds harsh, but she knows him and knows he doesn't mean it to be hurtful. It helps that he's telling her to buck up. “Isn't that part of how we ended up here in the first place? We've blown the frat regs to hell and back already, all of us. If you think getting drunk on a really crappy day in front of me is somehow more inappropriate than anything else then you're dead wrong.”

She nods.

“As for the rest of it,” he says. “I think we can trust each other.” She watches as he steals a glance at Daniel and it hits her for the first time that he's caught her drunk and teary but she's caught him sleeping with someone under his command. Daniel is a civilian, but the way gate teams run, there's still a chain of command and he's violating the rules. And that's to say nothing of the fact that they're both men. Her mind reels. She never would have suspected, never in a million years. She can't even figure out how to feel about it. Part of her feels oddly betrayed, closed out of this elicit connection they apparently have. But another part of her is amused. She almost feels like it's a practical joke they've played on her.

“Right, Carter?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” she says. “Of course you can.” She blows her nose again, letting the tears subside. No matter what she might feel, she wouldn't dream of turning them in. It never would have occurred to her. The team comes first. Always. And she had meant what she'd said about Jack before. He was everything. She did love him. This didn't change any of that.

“Daniel's going to leave now and make up the sofa for you,” he says.

She nods. From the other side of the kitchen, Daniel says, half mockingly, “Yes, sir,” and Jack shoots him a grimace as he leaves the kitchen.

“Eat, Carter,” he orders.

She picks up the toast and puts it in her mouth. Despite the jam, it tastes like cardboard. She suspects everything would though so she keeps chewing it.

“Now you're going to listen to some things,” Jack says. “First, you did the right thing in there. I know Hammond said it to you already. And I said it. And Janet probably said it. The damned Tok'ra said it, but even a broken clock is right twice a day. Hell, the president might have said it to you. But I'm saying it again. You had no choice. You did the right thing. And I know you're in knots about it but every time you get in knots about it, you're going to repeat that to yourself. And then you're going to forgive yourself. And that's an order if you'll take it as one.”

She nods. She's crying again, but it feels better than before. It's less like tears smashing against a wall and more like the floodgates opened, releasing everything.

“And now, since we've really blown the regs to hell, I'm going to say something else. I heard what that asshole Jennings said in the gateroom and I think you probably heard it too. You are not cold-hearted. You have been maybe a little unlucky in love, but it's not because you're not loveable. This sucks, and Marty was a decent guy for a Tok'ra. But it's not your fault. And it's not a comment on your ability to find the right guy someday.”

It's upsetting how well he knows exactly what she needs to hear. She feels the tears streaming down the sides of her face fast enough not to even bother with the tissues.

“Got that, Carter?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, mostly on autopilot. It seems to appease him. For someone who just said the exact right things to help her emotionally, he now looks deeply uncomfortable.

“Finish that toast. And hydrate yourself. Have the coffee if you think it'll help.”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

Daniel comes back in the kitchen as she tries to drink the glass of water. He stands behind Jack, placing his hand on his shoulder.

Jack continues looking uncomfortable. “Well, then,” he says gruffly. “I'm exhausted and going to bed.” He stands up and walks out of the kitchen, not looking back.

For a moment, Sam is flustered, looking at Daniel, who is rolling his eyes. Then, her tears lending themselves to hysteria, she actually giggles. “Oh my god,” she says, beginning to cry again.

Daniel sits at the table. “Yeah, well. He does have a knack for it. I mean, deeply sensitive and sweet and then deeply uncomfortable and has to run away.” He chuckles quietly.

“Is that why we love him?” she asks. We, she thinks. Daniel loves him too, though in a way she never imagined before.

“Maybe. Probably.” He looks at her. “Are you… I mean, that's a stupid question. Are you going to be okay?”

“No,” she says. She aware that she's still crying. “Or, yes. God, the hangover's going to be killer.” She hiccups and drinks down the rest of the water.

“No more desire to finish the bottle?”

“The desire usually ends when it comes up like that,” Sam says.

“Yeah. I sort of remember that. It's been awhile.”

“You're really sleeping with Jack?”

“I'm really sleeping with Jack.”

“Oh my god.” She laughs then tears up again. “I feel like an idiot confessing all that stuff that we had to say for the zatarc detector.”

“It's okay. I get it.”

She giggles again. “I never would have guessed. Do you actually kiss him? Is he a good kisser?”

“You're still pretty drunk, Sam.”

“Oh, I am. I'm so sorry.” She tears up again. “It's like a roller coaster.”

“He was a good guy. The first Tok'ra we could trust. The first one who trusted us. If he hadn't been willing to reach out, we might not have the alliance we have. And contrary to anything Anise did right or wrong, it's a good thing for the planet.”

“He was. I think he looked at me with more affection than anyone I've ever known. He always called me Samantha. No one does that. I usually want to punch guys who do that. But it was sort of nice from him.”

Daniel smiles. “Will Jacob be here tomorrow?”

“Probably.” She wants her father to come now. She closes her eyes.

“Come on,” Daniel says after a minute. He brings her to the sofa, which is made up with sheets and proper pillows. He gives her a toothbrush. Tells her to come get him if she can't sleep. “I promise we'll both be clothed,” he says, which makes her laugh again. He hugs her.

As she settles, she sees that Daniel left the picture she drew smoothed out on the table. She looks at it for a moment then flips it over. She can't think about it anymore. She feels weary and wrung out. She thinks she probably isn't going to sleep, but she drops off quickly.

*** 

In the morning, when Sam wakes up, groggy, head pounding, sore from sleeping with her neck twisted funny, she hears voices in the kitchen and stands up, stretching and watching. Jack is at the stove, making something in a frying pan. Daniel is behind him, arms around him, head dipped to Jack's shoulder.

They hear her and break apart. Daniel gives her a tentative smile. She can't return it, but she thinks that if this is breaking the regulations that the regulations are wrong. Because she does feel for them more than she should. And thank goodness because the job asks so much of her. If she didn't have them, and Teal'c, she'd have nothing.

“Eggs,” Jack announces, holding a plate out for her. “Best hangover food there is.” And it does sound good.

**Author's Note:**

> In digging through old SG-1 fic, I realized I really, really like writing Jack/Daniel from Sam's perspective. Huh. I always feel bad for Sam in this episode. She's really put through the wringer. And then, of course, right after, nothing comes of it. Because it's Stargate and the trauma keeps getting reset.


End file.
